Restless
by Rose Eclipse
Summary: Lucifer finds a way to reestablish his bond with his true vessel. Nobody can protect Sam Winchester from his dreams.


_"You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit." _

-The Picture of Dorian Gray

A-A-A

Angels can get lonely. This one in particular is also infuriated, infatuated, and impatient.

Lucifer has gnashed furiously against the walls of his Cage long enough. He's tolerated the wrath of being thwarted before.

There was no Apocalypse, no reshaping the Earth into the Paradise he desired it to be. No war with firstborn Michael, no divine event that shook foundations to the core. The silly human beings continued to muddle through their lives as if nothing extraordinary had occured.

Lucifer's been licking his wounds for a long time now. His true vessel, the Boy with the Demon Blood, was meant to provide Lucifer with a body to compliment his ideal spirit. Together they would become a divine match spanning Heaven and Earth. An unexpected turn of events brought the boy to be locked up with Lucifer; the angel might have tolerated better with his other half beside him. But alas, the boy was eventually plucked from the Cage and taken back to the human world. Lucifer is alone again.

Things didn't turn out as he expected…but that doesn't mean they're going to stay that way indefinitely.

_No matter_, he soothes himself. _Sam is mine, now and forever._

Sam Winchester may think he can bury the past now that he's out of Hell and back among the living.

He may think he's safe, what with that infernal distrustful brother of his doting on every one of Sam's movements and never hesitant to put a bullet in any creature that gets too close to his precious baby brother.

Sam may even fool himself into thinking that he's won the goodness of grace by having his soul restored to him while the annoyingly persistent Castiel watches his back. There's also the armory of knives, guns, spells, and trinkets that the Winchesters arm themselves with against anything that attempts to veer them off course.

As long as Sam is alive and awake, Castiel and Dean will be damned before letting anything happen to him again. But what they don't know is that _nobody_ can protect Sam from his dreams.

A smile creeps its way across Lucifer's face until it becomes radiant with joy.

He's going to win. No matter what, he always wins.

A-A-A

Every bit of contact, no matter how brief, can leave a mark. And in this case Lucifer has definitely imprinted something faint but traceable on Sam's soul. All he has to do is make contact with Sam and reestablish their bond….and he can do that without leaving his prison.

He watches Sam and Dean shuffle out of that clunky car and into a dimly lit motel. The Winchesters have already exhausted their bodies hours ago from a so-called "hunt" that's really a poor substitute for a pilgrimage. Lucifer knows the excuses they fabricate to apologize and atone for their human limits.

As if you have to apologize for being who you _are_. That your mere existence is tainted and must be amended.

Lucifer feels that way about the billions of other humans but not Sam Winchester. Sam is perfect in all of his insecurities, his self-delusions of repentance and redemption. His innocence makes him compliant; soft, sweet, and delicious. Lucifer can't wait to sink his teeth into Sam.

At this moment the brothers are dragging themselves into yet another dingy faded room, fueled by too many cups of caffeine and not enough natural rest. Dean hasn't even bothered to change his clothes; he's already passed out in a rumpled heap on his bed and is snoring away. Sam is getting there. His eyes are bloodshot and his limbs are aching with the overdrive of pushing himself too far. Whatever paper-thin barriers remain are melting away fast.

He's ripe for the picking.

Sam pulls off his shoes and lets out a huge yawn. He barely manages to swing his legs onto the bed because his head has hit the pillow and sleep has claimed him. He lays there, immobilized, helpless and oh-so-open for Lucifer.

A breeze quivers through dusty curtains threaded along an open window. The supernatural being barely makes its presence noticeable as he is carried on the wind and into the room. Lucifer channels his energy forward, willing himself to ignore Dean—_I'll give him something to scream about later_—and quickly advances towards Sam.

The natural forces do Lucifer's bidding and the wind delicately strokes Sam's face, wraps itself around him in a protective cocoon, and draws him into another world.

A-A-A

_"I have unclasped to thee the book even of my secret soul." _-Twelfth Night

The humid air puckers against Sam's skin. Every step he takes forward seemed to compress him into a vise of heat as he walks deeper into the forest. Is this the Amazon? The greens and yellows of the trees are brighter than he could imagine, like something out of a children's coloring book.

He proceeds cautiously, bare feet tickled by the fuzzy moss that grows on rocks. There's the sound of water bubbling through a brook, the playful twitter of birds, and the murmuring of leaves brushing against each other.

An unexpected breath of fresh air whips into Sam's face as if he's just stepped into an air-conditioned store. He follows it willingly towards a tree in the forest where large heavy fruits hang laden from the branches, so lovely that they catch the eye like diamonds.

The tree pulls Sam forward whether he wants to or not.

They're not apples. These are much larger with the robust skin of peaches and lush tints of strawberries.

He cups one between both hands and when he pulls down, the branch lowers itself too. It won't give up so easily. He has to twist and jerk hard to pull the fruit off and when Sam does, the it breaks off with a sharp _snap_. The branch bounces upwards and nearly smacks him in the face.

The skin holds the fragrance of mangoes, jasmine, and a thousand other tantalizing scents, causing Sam's senses dance with glee. Just holding the fruit makes him almost nauseous with desire. His fingers cup it tightly—he's not sharing. This is _his_. He'd bash someone's brains out before letting anyone else take it.

A sliver of humanity pricks Sam's conscience, warning him of the consequences. He wavers for a moment between man and madness.

_So violent, so passionate_, someone gloats nearby.

With Herculean effort, Sam forces himself to pry his fingers open and lets the fruit slip to the ground. It lands with a heavy _thud_ and sits there like a broken work of art. It looks a little less appealing than it did before but nevertheless, the urge lingers within him.

A trace of rustling distracts Sam. He's vaguely aware that he's being watched. His eyes trail from the quivering plants to the presence of a newcomer that is closer than he expected.

An enormous tan-and-black patterned snake has appeared at his feet. It's more than twice as long as Sam is tall and nearly thick as his waist; the sinew curves of a predator ripple with every movement it makes.

The snake gives off an aura that Sam finds oddly familiar, as if they've met before…

It lazily skims over grass before brushing against his ankle. Cool waves of pleasure emit from the scaly body, causing the hairs on Sam's arm to stand on end. He should do something, _anything_, but for the life of him can't seem to budge. The giant beast has marked him and will not relinquish its prey. Sam is rendered immobile as it gracefully curls itself around his leg in a secure grip and then fluidly ascends upwards towards his torso.

The snake rubs dangerously close to Sam's skin; the contact causes his nerves to jolt like sparked wires. By the time he realizes he should at least attempt to confront captor or offer some form of resistance, the snake has wound itself twice around his arms, pinning them to his waist. There's a definitive squeeze, not harsh enough to strangle Sam, but something that forces a bit of air out of his lungs. If he didn't know better then he'd say the damn thing was _hugging_ him.

Which is ridiculous. Just as it's ridiculous that he's allowed himself to get wrapped up, literally and metaphorically, in this scenario.

Sam is starring into a pair of liquid black eyes, so shiny that he can see his reflection in them. If his captor was in human form then he'd bestow a kiss on Sam's nose. Instead, a slender forked tongue darts out from the snake's mouth and flicks across his brow teasingly. Little beads of ice tremble along the nape of Sam's neck.

"Well," Sam hears himself barely gasp out. "Are you going to eat me or just crush me?"

Unblinking, undisturbed black eyes bore into him. _No_, comes the answer.

The snake bobs down enough to rub the top of its head underneath Sam's chin playfully, enjoying the warm supple human flesh drawn taut against its reptilian body. The tongue flicks out again mischievously, savoring the perfume of hot thick blood pumping frantically through Sam's veins.

He can sense Sam's shattered senses and how on edge his captive is. And here he thought it would be all right…

_Oh well. Phase two._

In the wink of an eye, Sam feels the snake's body vanish and his limbs hang loosely in the air. The forest has disappeared too and he's falling slowly towards somewhere light and airy. Sam lands gently in a bed that's luxuriously wide and soft, finer than anything he's ever slept on in his life. The silken sheets glide smoothly underneath his fingertips and the pillows are overstuffed, cradling his head comfortably. It's like landing in a bath of cream.

He still can't relax. The expression on his face is a cross between puzzlement and concern.

Then he realizes he's not alone. The angel hovers inches over him. Lucifer's taken on a more tangible form; arms, legs, head, fingers, all like a human…but it's nobody Sam knows. Not man or woman, not Nick or Ruby. Something between immortal and mortal; magic and man.

He descends until he's eye-level with Sam, who is stunned by the beauty of angel wings. Rimmed with feathers and shimmering with pearl-gray light, they spray out from between shoulder blades.

_Like the color of a winter sky_, he thinks to himself.

Sam's awe pleases Lucifer to no end. _Glad you like them_, he responds.

Sam must not even notice that his mouth is still hanging open. Lucifer reaches out with one hand and bringing a finger underneath Sam's chin, closes it shut.

He lets his fingertips linger on Sam's mouth for a moment before tracing the graceful curve of his lips. The fluid touch causes Sam's eyes to change color; hazel dissolving into lush green, then warm brown, further defining his emotions.

The angel bends closer and tenderly presses his lips to Sam's mouth. It tastes just like watermelon and Sam dissolves into a memory of eating a slice of cold crisp fruit when he was eight years old. It's so real that when Lucifer breaks the kiss off, Sam almost expects there to be juice running down his chin.

The angel quivers with soft laughter. He's managed to surprise Sam with this ability to give him pleasure and aims to repeat it. He lays a hand on Sam's shoulder and presents him with a second kiss that is no wondrous than the first. This one is bittersweet and roasted. It's the best cup of coffee Sam ever had, sipped on a frosty autumn morning in Montana with the sun warming his back and a snow-capped mountain on the horizon.

More kisses follow. More memories and sensations are deftly fed to Sam and he consumes each one ravenously. The apple-blossom skin of a girl he made love to. Fresh-cut grass on a sticky summer day. Warm butter melting on hot popcorn. The dry crisp air of winter's first snowfall. Singed matches from striking firecrackers.

With each kiss Sam becomes more fluid and less wary. His mouth ripens, his bones melt into honey, and his body opens up willingly, until he's sprawled out along the bed with his arms wrapped around Lucifer's shoulders, basking in the glorious sensations as they wash over him in waves of wanting and yearning.

He feels marble-smooth skin brushing against his neck, fingers deftly sliding around his throat to the nape of his neck where they tenderly massage the base of his skull. Under Lucifer's spell, the knots of tension give way and float downstream, out and away from Sam's body.

Sam hears the angel's breath in his ear, tender as music, and wills himself to slow down his heartbeat until he can synchronize himself with Lucifer.

The angel is aware of what Sam has done and it fills him with satisfaction; he will prove his gratitude to Sam.

The kisses descend downward to Sam's chin, neck, throat, and proceed to make a trail down his entire body. _He takes such good care of himself_, Lucifer thinks happily. He admires the hard corded muscles in Sam's arms, broadness of his chest that narrows down to slender hips and a flat stomach. The human body burns like a bronze god beneath Lucifer's grace.

Lucifer's mouth hovers for a moment over Sam's stomach before his tongue sinuously slides into the naval; fitting like a key in a lock. The human's body trembles with wanting. Then Sam is aware of movement somewhere even lower and he closes his eyes; not because he doesn't want to watch but because colors are already swirling before his eyes. When he shuts them, the colors are muted but at least he won't go blind.

He can't tell if its an angel's hands or tendrils of grace deftly administering to his manhood; all he knows is that the touch to his sensitive membrane instantly fires sweet jolts of electricity into his bloodstream. Lucifer works deftly and quickly, bringing Sam to a feverish pitch, watching the muscles in his body ripple up and down, higher and higher until—

Lucifer abruptly stops what he's doing and for a moment Sam is hysterical with desire. The angel swiftly envelopes the human with his body. Arms, legs, and wings all wind around Sam. Hips and mouths lock onto one another. There's a sharp movement and then the link is made; they meld into one. Sam lets out a cry of pain and pleasure twined when Lucifer's energy of a frosty river swirls into his own energy of roaring lava.

It renders Sam with something only a little less than serenity. It calms Sam, soothing and easing him, taming his heated blood with the angel's cool contact and reassuring him that all is well. He is exactly where he belongs, with the person that he belongs to.

Lucifer parts himself from Sam's body long enough to press a single kiss to the center of his forehead. Sam's face tilts upwards and dimples form in the corners of his mouth as he releases a drowsy sigh of pleasure.

He feels placid, calm. Happy. Content.

He lets the angel's wings engulf him once more and their bodies drift together with the motion of the tide.

A-A-A

_"My soul is in the sky."_ -A Midsummer Night's Dream

Winchesters are hunters. They do not cuddle or snuggle and they definitely do _not_ do it with fallen angels.

Strike one for Sam.

He couldn't care less. He's buried cozily underneath the sheets, curled up on one side as the palm of Lucifer's hand rubs up and down his back in a soothing gesture. An arm is draped over his waist protectively. He can't imagine the last time he felt so appreciated, so tranquil. Was he ever like this back there? In his past life?

Sam's too comfortable to budge but he does lift his eyes up to Lucifer and gazes wistfully at him. _Just like a kitten_, the angel thinks to himself. Still so much of the boy in him, so much unfinished work.

The rest will be shaped into the angel's hands. He will gather the raw material carefully, mold it, caress it, and make Sam into something stunning and everlasting.

If only they could get started now.

The sigh that escapes Lucifer's lips does not go unnoticed by Sam. For a moment his brow furrows but Lucifer just smiles at him reassuringly. It's too late, though. Sam feels the breach between worlds growing and he's aware that something between them has shifted.

_I don't want to go_, he begs Lucifer.

A hand deftly strokes his hair, trying to appease him. It isn't enough. Sam doesn't want to return to...to whatever that place he came from. Here he is loved, made to feel like a treasure. He can't bear to be forced back out into the cold.

Lucifer cups Sam's chin and for a moment, all seems well. He bestows one final kiss upon the human's lips, more firm and secure than before. It's a reassurance to Sam, a promise that all will be well. But then he realizes what Lucifer has done. The kiss is a seal in itself; it has locked itself up within Lucifer's essence. It will leave none of these sensations imprinted on memory. Sam won't remember it at all.

Hunters never cry.

Instead, Sam feels strong hands secure around his waist, lifting him up as the wings embrace him one last time. Sam squeeze his eyes shut, willing himself not to forget this feeling. He clings to it even as the light fades from the room and he can feel feathers dissolving away.

A-A-A

Usually Sam can tolerate mornings better than Dean. But this time he sleeps in so late that Dean has prodded, poked, and blasted the radio to no avail. Not until he splashes a glass of water in Sam's face does his little brother come alive. Cold wet unpleasantness saturates his being as he gives his brother a hard stare.

"C'mon Sammy! Don't sleep the day away!" Dean's perky voice is grating on Sam's nerves. The usual smells of staleness and ashtrays seem overwhelming in comparison to—to what? To where he was before? Where did he go?

Sam's hand suddenly comes to his mouth. It isn't swollen with kisses yet he feels that it should be.

His body feels refreshed from the long uninterrupted sleep but his soul feels unsatisfied because something is still missing. Dean continues to jabber away and the radio's song rattles around in Sam's head—both trying to feed him something he neither wants nor needs.

He reaches over and calmly but firmly turns the dial off.

"Say, what's eating you?" demands Dean.

"I just feel like some peace and quiet," his brother answers.

The air in the room has abruptly gotten cooler and Dean notices.

In a less playful tone he says, "All right, Sammy. You take it easy today, okay? I'm gonna go grab us some grub. Whatcha want?"

Sam realizes that he is indeed hungry, but not in his stomach. It's all over his body. He can't put his finger on it but he want something specific, something rare and valuable that he doubts Dean can understand.

"Pancakes," Dean announces, pointing a finger at Sam. "Extra maple syrup, right?"

"Right," Sam hears himself answer.

"Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." Dean's reassuring smile should be enough. But as soon as he closes the door behind himself, the emptiness inside of Sam becomes more evident.

What is he missing? What happened last night that made him so longing for something more in his life?

There's a little voice inside of Sam assuring him that whatever it was, it was something he was made to experience. Because he is a special person who deserves special treatment and is destined for great things.

Another little voice chastises Sam for being ridiculous. If he isn't going to spend the morning reading or doing research then he's wasting his time.

Sam chooses to listen to the latter. He places his feet on the floor and stands up. Protocol never to be damned, he makes his bed even though he knows housekeeping will do it after they leave. After smoothing out the sheets he picks up the pillow he's been sleeping on and fluffs it between his hands.

A soft wind blows through the window, ticking the nape of his neck and ruffing his hair affectionately.

END


End file.
